


Young and Menace

by actualborealis



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bond is also a brat., Bondlock, Canon Divergence, F/M, I made an executive decision to keep the third Holmes sibling's name Sherrinford., John is very done., Mycroft really IS the British government., No beta readers; we die like men., Q is a brat., Reader is a BAMF., Sherlock is a bit not good.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-22 20:31:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11974473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualborealis/pseuds/actualborealis
Summary: "We've gone way too fast for way too long / And we were never supposed to make it half this far / And I lived so much life, lived so much life / I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice."As the Quartermaster's assistant, codename R, you've come to the conclusion that you're definitely not being paid enough. Handling him is a tough enough job without having to manage him AND his two elder brothers. But when you find your life threatened after digging too deep into the mystery surrounding your parents' brutal murder, you'll have to rely on the Holmes siblings to save you.





	Young and Menace

**Author's Note:**

> So I know that the POV in this chapter is a little bit weird but bear with me, it won't be like this in all of them.

**Q BRANCH, 0500 HOURS.**

As Q approached his laboratory that fateful morning, bag dangling from his shoulder and thermos in hand, he found that the door was ajar. He hesitated; that wasn't promising at all. He shuffled Converse-clad feet anxiously for a moment while he decided what to do. He wasn't armed. He _built_ the guns, he didn't _use_ them, that was Bond's job. But he supposed he could use his thermos as a bludgeon if he needed to, even if it would inevitably end with a waste of perfectly good tea. He tightened his grip on his makeshift weapon and slowly pushed the door open. He peered through his spectacles at the laboratory but oddly enough, nothing seemed to be particularly out of place. Everything that he and his minions had left out the night before was still precisely where it was supposed to be. He was meticulous enough that he'd notice any degree of difference.

It wasn't until he'd nearly reached his corner of the lab that he realized what was wrong. There was a man sitting at his desk. In his chair. He wore an impeccable suit and his hands were folded patiently atop a manilla folder, which had  **TOP SECRET** stamped across the top. Lowering his thermos and simultaneously struggling to suppress his fury, he considered the situation carefully. His eldest brother, Mycroft Holmes, had broken into his laboratory and made himself at home at  _his_ desk. 

Q was positive he'd had this  _exact_ nightmare before.

"You haven't been answering your phone," was the greeting the young Quartermaster received. He stood fuming for a few moments, staring Mycroft down as if to say  _and why do you think that is?_

"... we have security." He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes, a complicated biometrics scan coded to the palm print." There was a glint of satisfaction in Mycroft's eyes. "I think you'll find that being me has certain perks, brother mine. You're needed."

"I certainly am," Q scoffed. "Here, at my place of employment.  _You_ are needed too - elsewhere."

"You know, I had hoped to arrive early enough to have this conversation with you privately," Mycroft began and his younger brother narrowed his eyes in suspicion at the abrupt change in subject. "It appears, however, that you have acquired a particularly diligent employee." He directed his gaze to the desk that sat closest to Q's. The young man followed with his own eyes and was subsequently startled.

The desk in question belonged, of course, to you: Q's assistant. It was in a state of 'controlled chaos', a phrase he'd never heard until he met you. He mostly left it alone, considering you really did know where everything was. Currently, there was a stack of papers so dangerously close to the edge that several sheets had already fluttered to the ground, and there was  _you_ , slumped forward over your keyboard, unconscious. The thermos slipped from his fingers and clattered against the floor as he hurried to your side, checking your pulse. Mycroft rolled his eyes, growing impatient and annoyed.

"She'll be fine. What do you think I am, Sherrinford?" 

Q stiffened. "Do not call me that in this building, Mycroft."

"This is a matter of national importance," insisted his elder. "The safety of your country and your family depends on it. I assume your interest aligns with at least one of those things, doesn't it?"

"Am I to assume yours does as well?" he retorted, glancing up from you briefly before returning to ensuring your wellbeing. Mycroft scoffed at him but stood, leaving the manila folder resting on top of Q's desk, fingers trailing across the front for a moment to emphasize its presence before he began strolling towards the door, collecting his umbrella along the way. He paused to speak, though he didn't glance back over his shoulder, before he left.

"I think perhaps you should look into your... exceedingly punctual assistant, Sherrinford." His tone became sharper when he uttered his brother's given name. "I'll be in touch." 

Once the door clicked softly behind him, Q released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His shoulders slumped slightly. He glanced down at you again and then scanned your desk, spotting the mug he'd given you as a birthday gift three months ago - your very own Scrabble mug to match his own. It was filled with tea that had since gone cold, a faint lipstick mark on the rim. He lifted it and inspected the contents briefly. He'd have to taste it to be sure, but he suspected this was how you'd been knocked out. He put it down and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, lips forming into a frown. What  _were_ you doing here so early? He was normally at least a couple of hours ahead of even the most eager Q branch minions. 

And you were as far from a morning person as you could possibly get. It didn't make any sense.

Deciding he'd just ask you about it when you woke up, he retrieved his thermos and sat down at his own desk, picking up the folder that Mycroft had left behind. He tapped it absentmindedly against the desk for a second before putting it in his top drawer, shaking his head. He poured the remainder of his tea into his trademark Q10 mug and set his laptop up. He still had plenty of time to get some work done while it was peaceful. But the more he tried to focus strictly on coding, the more he started thinking about the file. He shut his laptop, resting his head in his hands briefly.  _Shit._  

 

**Q BRANCH, 0600 HOURS.**

(E/C) eyes fluttered open. It took your vision a moment to focus. You'd fallen asleep on your keyboard, again. You sat up quickly, trying to get your bearings, wincing at the piercing headache that made its presence painfully known. You tapped the spacebar to wake your computer up. You'd gotten to work two and a half hours ago, but hardly remembered anything. There was no way to be sure how long you'd been napping. The sound of someone shifting their weight in a chair drew your attention and you realized Q was already in the lab with you, thumbing through a folder that was labeled top secret. You rubbed your eyes.

"Q."

He snapped the folder shut quickly and glanced at you from over the rims of his glasses. You expected a thorough scolding for being here as early as you were, on top of sleeping at your desk. Instead, he tapped his fingers against his desk and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," you answered slowly, frowning. "Why, do I look awful?"

"I am not taking  _that_ bait, R." But he didn't stop giving you that concerned look. 

"I'm fine. Just had a late night, and an early morning." You didn't plan on explaining yourself any further, choosing to end the conversation by reaching for your tea, well aware it had gone cold at this point. His eyes widened.

"Don't drink that!" He'd meant to toss it, he really had, but then he got busy reading the file Mycroft had left him, and he completely forgot about your drugged beverage. Your hand hovered. You stared at him silently, demanding an explanation. He grimaced. There was no way out of this. "It's... been... well, you didn't settle in for a kip because you were tired, necessarily."

"Q," you said softly, seriously, "who the  _fuck_ drugged my tea?" He winced at your tone of voice.

"That would be Mycroft Holmes. He occupies a minor position in the British government, if you recall." He stood up, scratching the back of his head, torn between fleeing the laboratory for the rest of the day and fetching you a new drink. He was crumbling under the intensity of your gaze. You pinched the bridge of your nose.

"What is Mycroft Holmes doing in the laboratory so early, drugging my bloody tea?" 

"Ah, that's confidential." Q was relieved he could use that as an excuse to avoid your questions. "Apologies, R. Above your pay grade."

"You'd seriously better consider upping my pay grade if I'm getting sedatives slipped in my morning cuppa!" you hissed. 

"That wouldn't have happened if you weren't here absurdly early," he pointed out and you fell suspiciously silent. He looked a bit triumphant, hands on his hips, trying to pick out the look in your eyes. You turned your chair away from him pointedly. "What  _were_ you doing here, R?"

"Working," you grumbled, snatching your mug up and thrusting it towards him. "Fix that, would you?"

Q didn't plan on letting the discussion end there quite yet but he supposed putting it on hold would be best, considering some of his minions would likely begin to trickle in shortly. He accepted the cup and shuffled towards the employee lounge, mind unable to settle on what to worry about: you, or the apparent reemergence of a consulting criminal that had caused England so much strife three years ago.


End file.
